Writing on the Wall
by AbsentAngel
Summary: Inuyasha doesn't believe in haunted houses – until he actually buys one. Figures. A story told in bits and pieces. [Ghost AU] [InuKag]
1. If the Key Fits

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 1: If the Key Fits_

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Inuyasha doesn't believe in ghosts.

He's a firm believer that once you've kicked the bucket then that's it. Done. Finito. Maybe there's a Heaven - shit, maybe there's a Hell too - but ghosts? Spirits? As far as he's concerned there's about as much evidence going for it as Santa Claus.

Which is why, when the decrepit house and shrine around the corner goes up for sale, his interest is perked. The place has been vacant for just about as long as he's been alive - and if nearly three decades of neglect didn't scare people off then the property's history did. Supposedly the last family that lived there, died there. Rumor in the neighborhood varies from murder to evil spirits, but Inuyasha never really cared to look into what the truth was.

However they checked out, the property is listed cheap in a way that only generations of ghost stories can accomplish. Cheap enough for the mortgage to cost less than his god damned rent for a studio apartment a tenth of the size.

Cheap enough for him to actually _buy_ the son of a bitch.

Signing the final papers is surreal. He'd always dreamt about having his own place, but on just his carpenter's income he'd known better than to bank on it actually happening. Home ownership is for snobs like his brother - people who make money just by sitting on their asses in the CEO chair. Even Miroku and Sango still rented, and they both had solid, respectable incomes to their names.

So even when the agent hands him the key, Inuyasha doesn't fully believe he's a home owner until the damn thing actually fits in the lock and the door opens.

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**AN: **Here's the Inuyasha Ghost AU that no one asked for (myself included). I shouldn't be signing myself up for another chapter story but I've been getting Inuyasha postings on my tumblr feed like crazy and it's stirring up all sorts of nostalgia. As you may have noticed, this is going to be in a drabble format. I've never done one, but I've always wanted to. I hope that this will be less pressure and results in quicker, more reliable updates. Shooting for once a week, every Sunday.

Word Count:282


	2. Man of the Cloth

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 2: Man of the Cloth_

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Inuyasha stands in what must have, at one point, been the living room. There's got to be a leak in the roof because there's water damage all over the place, and certain rooms reek of mold, but he can't wipe the grin off his face. He's already making a list of what to do and things to buy. It's going to be a big job, but he's been working construction since straight out of school, and he's built up both the skills and muscle he needs to see it through. "Isn't it great?!"

Beside him, Miroku is horrified. The more he looks around the more dread seems to pit in his stomach. "You... paid money for this?" he asks, hesitant.

Blinded by excitement, or perhaps pride, Inuyasha doesn't register that his best friend is in fact very, very concerned. "It looks like shit now, but wait till I fix it up. Place is going to end up being worth a fortune when I'm done with it!"

Miroku eyes a stain on the wall that, when he turns his head a little to the right, almost looks like kinda like a set of abnormally long, clawed fingers. He pales. "If the house doesn't kill you first," he mutters. There is a heaviness inside these walls, a density, that sets him on edge.

Inuyasha scoffs. "Yeah right. You know those stories are all a load of shit. Scariest thing in here is the mold."

Miroku edges around a dark, blotchy stain on the tatami, and feels bile rise in his throat. "Is… that blood? Please tell me that isn't blood."

Inuyasha waves him off. "Feh, the tatami needs complete replacing anyway. Stuff's got holes everywhere – probably mice. The shrine's got 'em too." He walks over to the far side of the room, gesturing for him to look through the doorway. "And look – a kitchen! Do you know that means?"

Carefully stepping around some debris, Miroku sighs before following the dark haired man. The kitchen looks as bad as the rest of the house. Cabinet doors are warped and hanging off their hinges, so filthy that he can't make out the original color. The appliances are in a similar state and Miroku tries to quell the nausea that rises when the thinks about what might be hiding behind the closed door of the refrigerator. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Inuyasha rolls his eyes. "Working at that desk all day's made you stupid."

Miroku doesn't bother to find offense – he's too busy trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his friend probably just made the worst decision of his life. "I'm a financial advisor, Inuyasha. All I'm seeing right now is money signs and they're not in your favor."

"That's because you're a cheapskate," Inuyasha scoffs.

"I believe I will remind you of this conversation when I'm comfortably retired and you're still working at the ripe old age of eighty."

Inuyasha snorts. "Look," he says, gesturing towards the sink and then the fridge. "Plumbing and updated electrical – whole place got the modern upgrade before the previous owners kicked the can."

Alarmed, Miroku shushes him – hissing through gritted teeth, "Shut up!" Nervously, he glances around as if expecting vengeful spirits to apparate from the ceiling. When nothing happens, he smacks his friend over the back of the head. "Don't disrespect the dead!"

"Oi!" Inuyasha rubs his skull, grumbling "You're so damn superstitious. You should have just become a priest."

Miroku feels a shiver run down his spine, the hairs on his arms standing on end. No matter how many times he tells himself he's probably imagining it, he can't shake the feeling of being watched. "For your sake, I'm starting to think I _should_ have."

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**AN: **I lied. Shooting for Wednesday AND Sunday updates.

Word Count: 623


	3. Cashing in Favors

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 3: Cashing in Favors_

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He starts demolition the next day.

The whole property has suffered from the decades of neglect, but he focuses on the house first. He isn't really the religious type, and since he won't be _living_ in it, the shrine is put on the back burner. He doesn't even know what the hell is in the small building beside it. The doors are locked and chained shut, and he really isn't all that keen on wasting his time tracking down some bolt cutters so he can break in. Especially since it's more than likely just an empty tool shed.

He's got eight weeks to turn this place around. He can't afford to take any longer off work and he sure as hell doesn't want to pay for an extra month of rent on top of his new mortgage. He doesn't have time for any delays. Being July, that means he doesn't have time to deal with annoying ass summer storms either, so the living room quickly becomes his work space. Admittedly, he had wanted to use the shrine – its got more space and he wouldn't have to worry about wood dust getting fucking everywhere – but if Miroku didn't like him disrespecting the dead, he pretty much lost his shit when Inuyasha mentioned turning the shrine into a wood shop.

The word 'heathan' might have been thrown out once or twice.

So the living room becomes his home base even though he knows he's going to be spending every day rolling and emptying the shop vac. Some things ain't worth having to listen to Miroku's nagging. The kitchen cabinets and old ass appliances are the first things to get thrown in the dumpster. Followed closely by the outdated and dust ridden window coverings hanging throughout the house. The tatami is fated to follow as well, but he knows better than to put new floors down in a construction site.

He's itching to get a start on building the kitchen cabinets – he's a carpenter after all – but he knows he's got to fix the roof before anything else. Taking the cabinets down has revealed a shit down of water damage, and he knows he's going to have to add drywall onto his growing list of to do's. Getting up onto the roof is easy; seeing the amount of damage is a punch in the gut.

A few choice, colorful words and he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. He scowls at the rotten shingles, waiting three rings before the line clicks.

"Yo, what's up?" Shippo sounds so chipper that Inuyasha almost considers letting him off the hook. Almost.

"Hey, remember huge favor you owe me?"

There's a beat of silence on the other line, followed by nervous laughter. "… Uh, what favor?"

Inuyasha tests his weight on a patch of roof that's carpeted in moss and feels it bow underneath him. "The one you owe me for getting you a fucking job."

Shippo audibly deflates. "Oh. That one." Inuyasha can practically hear him cringing. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Staring at that long expanse of roof, knowing that all of it will probably need to be torn up and replaced, Inuyasha doesn't take as much pleasure as he usually does when he responds with, "Not a chance."

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**AN: **Happy Sunday! Thanks for all the reviews and support! I'm getting actually getting pretty excited about this project, lol.

Word Count: 548


	4. Fiddler on the Roof

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 4: Fiddler on the Roof_

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Inuyasha wipes the sweat from the back of his neck with a cool towel. Not for the first time, he half heartedly considers cutting the long, dark mane of hair making the temperature feel ten degrees hotter. He looks across the roof to where Shippo is nailing in the last sheet of plywood.

Stripping the roof of the old shingles had quickly confirmed his worst suspicions. The whole underlying plywood had been rotted through, resulting in the whole roof needing to be torn down to the trusses. Now it is overflowing from the dumpster, spilling over the sides of the metal bin in a way he knows he'll need to reorganize later if wants the damn thing to get picked up.

They're running out of daylight, but maybe they can manage to get the tar paper on. Hell, maybe even a few rows of shingles if they busted ass. "Oi, give it another two hours and then call it a day? Beer's on me."

Shippo looks up at him, delivering the last nail as he sends him a wry, withering glare. There's sweat plastering his auburn hair to his forehead – proof that the heat has made him just as miserable. "Just because I'm drinking age now doesn't mean you can just buy me off with beer."

Inuyasha wraps the damp cloth around his neck, sending the young apprentice a smirk. "Well in that case I'll drink it for you."

"You're a jerk."

Picking his nail gun up from the roof, Inuyasha takes another glance at the rapidly setting sun before giving the twenty year old a gruff retort. "And you're wasting time bitching when you should be helping me bring up the tar paper."

"Yeah, yeah." Shippo stands, starts to take a step forward and then curses as he's jerked back. One of the nails is sticking up and hooked on the hem his pant leg.

Inusha watches in horror as it sends him off balance – scrambling up the roof and trying to get to the other side even though he knows there's no way in hell he's going to get there in time. "Hold on!"

Shippo's arms are windmilling, fighting with gravity even as he takes a stumbling step back to try and brace himself. For a terrifying moment it looks as if gravity will win – that his center of balance is too off kilter. He's going to fall backwards and to the ground two stories below – and then suddenly he pitches forward and his fingers scramble for purchase against the plywood just as Inuyasha reaches him.

"Shit! You ok?!" He watches as Shippo turns over onto his back, chest heaving as he takes in huge gulps of air. The way he stares up at the sky sets Inuyasha on edge, and he smacks the kid's cheek to get his attention. "Hey, come on. Snap out of it."

When Shippo finally looks at him, Inuyasha manages an (albeit shaky) grin and knocks his knuckles on the apprentice's hard hat. "See? This is why you wear your brain bucket." He peers over the roof, pulse still racing as he measures the height, and the grip he has on his friend's shirt tightens. "That was some good acrobatics, Kid. Thought you were a goner for a second there."

Shippo is ghostly pale, green eyes wide and rimmed with something other than lingering fear or relief as he stares at the protruding nail that almost ended him. Something that Inuyasha can't quite put his finger on until the kid meets his gaze, and he realizes with trepidation that it's _awe_. "I was. I was going to fall."

The carpenter hesitates, eyeing the younger man with growing concern. "But you didn't, you –"

Shippo cuts him off, shaking his head. "No, you're not listening. Someone – _something_ – pushed me forward. It stopped me from going over." Shippo swallows, body trembling. "Inuyasha, it felt like _hands_."

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**AN**: Friendly reminder that it is ALWAYS ok to call me out on my spelling/grammar/whatever errors! I would rather know about it than it stay like that and suffer extreme embarrassment when I catch it three years later (true story). Also, I apologize for any mistakes in general… I'm on some medication that makes me, uh, well, high. Or drunk. One of the two. Or both. Both is good. So your patience is most appreciated!

Words Count: 650


	5. Done and Dusted

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 5: Done and Dusted_

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He still doesn't believe in ghosts, but even he's got to admit that some strange shit happens in that house – Shippo's heat stroke induced hallucinations up on the roof aside.

Doors he's certain he closed are found open, but no amount of checking and double checking the latches reveal any explanation. Sometimes while he's working, covered in sweat and cursing the summer heat, he'll feel a chill out of no where and – while the house had been modernized for the most part – there isn't any kind of air conditioning. He is constantly looking for tools, only to find them in the most bizarre places.

But _this_. This took the cake.

In the wood dust surrounding his chop saw, are foot prints – bare with dainty little impressions of toes. Footprints that are way too fucking small to be _his_.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

He growls, dropping his tool belt onto the old tatami floors with a heavy thud. "Alright, that's it! This isn't fucking funny kid! Joke's over! Get the hell out of my house before I kick your ass!" He is answered with nothing but silence, and it makes him all the more furious. "And put on some shoes, you dumb shit!" There is still no answer, but this time he isn't really expecting one. Stupid kids and their stupid pranks.

Grumbling, he reaches for his tool belt and freezes. In the dust, just beneath the footprints, are words.

'_I can't.'_

He blinks, then blinks again, but it's still there. He knows that isn't something he would have missed the first time – no way in hell – but he doesn't believe in ghosts. Because ghosts aren't real. They're not. But no matter how long he stares the words stare right back at him, and for probably the first time since grade school, he's not so sure.

He swallows thickly, trying to push down the nerves clamoring up his throat, but his mouth is so dry he may as well be swallowing the saw dust littering the floor. Slowly, he backs up a step, abandoning his tool belt as he looks to either side of the room before his gaze returns to the floor. It goes against all his better judgment, and he's probably going to be embarrassed about it later (but no one's around to call him out, so fuck it) but he forces himself to ask. "What? Wear shoes?"

One second, then two, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when more Japanese characters are drawn into the dust.

'_Leave.'_

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**AN: **An extra happy Sunday because Edith the Chicken is now a mama chicken and hatched three babies last night. :'D

Word Count:421


	6. Seeing is Believing

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 6: Seeing is Believing_

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'_Leave_'

Inuyasha eyes the writing nervously. There's a shiver running down his spine, but he's still not convinced that he's not losing his god damn mind. Perhaps a dream? Miroku and Shippo had been yappin' his ears off about ghosts and hauntings so much he wouldn't be half surprised, but when he pinches his arm pain follows shortly after.

Fucking hell.

Then an even more troubling realization dawns on him. It can't leave. Which means he's stuck with it. Suddenly the price he paid for the place doesn't seem like such a deal, because he sure as shit didn't sign up for a roommate. Roommates are a pain in the ass. Last time he had a roommate he almost killed the guy for using all his stuff without ask –

Son of a _bitch_.

"Oi!" he snaps. "You the one moving all my tools around?!"

There's a pause, and then the dust shifts around what he assumes are ghostly fingers.

'_Yes_.'

He growls, any lingering fear evaporating in the face of blind fury. "Well knock it the fuck off! You don't see me touching your shit!"

There must not be enough room in the dust for it's reply, because the previous answers are swiftly swept away. Then more words appear, written more clumsily and with a quicker hand.

'_My_ _house_.'

Oh hell no. "Your house? _Your_ house?! Fuck that! I didn't pay a lot for this hunk of rot, but I invested every damn penny I got!" He scowls into the empty air, vaguely wondering if he punched in the general area of the chop saw if he'd eventually hit something. Then he remembers all of Miroku's blabbering about curses and grudgingly decides against it.

'_My home. Can't leave. My __home_.'

The outrage that had heated his blood slowly cools. He doesn't know how – maybe it's one of those haunted house type deals – but he senses a change of tone in it's last response. The one before it had been antagonizing, but this one… it feels like a desperate plea to be understood.

He huffs, running a hand through his hair and grumbling at the snags. With his tongue pressing against his teeth, his eyes raise to the ceiling – considering it thoughtfully. When he finally asks, he doesn't lower his gaze right away. "You the one that saved Shippo? Up on the roof?"

The answer is waiting for him when he looks down. He can't say that he's all that surprised by it.

'_Yes_.'

Well it can't be all that bad then – having a ghost around. If it went through the trouble of saving Shippo then it isn't too far of a stretch to assume it wouldn't hurt _him_. Maybe a roommate won't be all that bad after all. At least he won't have to worry about it drinking his beer and eating his leftovers out of the fridge. Inuyasha's lips stretch into a smirk. "In that case, I guess you can stick around."

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**AN: **Sorry for any errors – this was a last minute addition. :)


	7. Sleeping Dogs

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 7: Sleeping Dogs_

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Inuyasha believes in ghosts.

Pretty hard not to when one's talking right at him.

He doesn't tell Miroku, though he knows he probably should. Maybe it's because he's honestly still struggling to wrap his head around it himself. Or maybe he just doesn't want to admit that his superstitious friend was right for a change (though this whole experience has made him question if perhaps he has been right a few other times too). In his defense, he doesn't tell anyone else either. The neighborhood already thinks he's batshit crazy for buying the place, the last thing he needs is to stir up more rumors.

Some (most) people would pack up and leave, but Inuyasha is nothing if not stubborn. Growing up with nothing taught him early on to sink his claws into whatever he's got, and he sure as hell isn't going to let a potential goldmine go just because a ghost happens to pop in every now and then. At least he's got someone to blame when shit goes missing.

Grunting, he moves one of the slabs of drywall into place. The lower panels have already been installed, and he's only got a few more sheets waiting in the living room. Once he mud and tapes the bastards he'll have a wall instead of the molded, crumbling mess the roof leak had left him with. Then he can _finally_ build his fucking cabinets and get some god damn appliances. He's particularly looking forward to having a fridge so he can enjoy a cold beer at the end of the day instead of choking down warm piss water. He reaches for the drill he left on the top step of his footstool, ready to secure the sheet of drywall to the studs, but his hand closes around air.

He growls, ready to throw something. It's been a long day and he's on a timeline damn it. He's got to get this shit done before his vacation time runs out, and if he can't move in before his lease ends he's going to be _pissed_.

"Seriously!?" he snarls. The panel of sheet rock he just agonizingly put up is balancing on the lower sheet, but it isn't going to stay there without some _god damn screws. _"I thought we fucking talked about this!"

There's a squeak from the window over the sink – a message written through the layer of grime. '_You'll wake him.'_

Inuyasha isn't sure who the hell 'him' is, but he has shit to do and he isn't in the mood for cryptic warnings. "What? Someone get cranky if they don't get some shut eye?" he sneers, looking around for a solution to his problem, growing more and more enraged when he can't find one. He lets out a growl of frustration, glaring into the empty air. "Give. It. Back."

Nothing answers him. Nothing moves. The lack of answer only makes him more furious, and he starts to take the damn piece of drywall down (cursing the entire time about ghosts not minding their own fucking business). When he finally gets it back on the floor, he turns – intending to grab his spare drill out of the bedroom he's been stashing his tools in – only to pause. On the wall are big, bold characters. His thick square pencil balances on the edge of the ladder beside it.

'_NOT. AT. NIGHT.'_

Inuyasha should say fuck it and grab the spare drill anyway, but something makes him hesitate. When he thinks about it, the only time his tools ever disappear are after the sun goes down… and only ever the ones that are particularly loud. His jaw tenses, eyeing the broken tip of the pencil – a result of being pressed too hard against the wall.

He turns the lights out and goes home without screwing in anymore drywall. Inuyasha still doesn't believe a lot of things, but he believes in ghosts.

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**AN: **Sorry it's a bit tardy... it's been a rough day and honestly I sort of forgot. A couple people have asked so I just want to clarify that Inuyasha is human. Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to review!

Word Count: 651


	8. The Drawing Board

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 8: The Drawing Board_

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He paints the largest wall in the living room with chalkboard paint. It's kitchy and lame, and he's probably going to hate himself for it later, but he figures it's better than ghosts scribbling on his walls with god knows what. Especially since he's planning on painting soon, and drawing all over his hard work is a quick way to go about ticking him off. Besides, he's tired of searching for responses in piles of dust and film on the windows. After the third coat has dried and cured, he screws in a little cubby and fills it with sticks of chalk and an eraser.

The moment he takes a step back to determine exactly how shitty it looks, a piece of pink chalk rises from the bin and begins writing in quick, almost excited, strokes.

'_For me?'_

He rolls his eyes, folding his hands over his chest. "More like my sanity."

The reply he gets is instant. '_Don't be rude.'_

"Feh, don't be so damn cryptic. Or is that just a ghost thing?"

The chalk hesitates, touching the chalk board for a moment before shying away. When it finally scratches out a answer, it is done slowly. '_It's been a long time. Some kanji is hard to remember.'_

Oh. Well shit. Now he kinda feels like an asshole. He thinks about how derelict the place was when he bought it - nothing to read and nothing to write with. Then he thinks about how long it had been that way and feels even worse. He shifts, feeling uncomfortable. "Right." He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry kid."

Again, another pause, before a question mark is drawn.

He scowls, suddenly defensive. Shit, it wasn't like he was heartless. "Why am I sorry?"

'_Kid?'_

Inuyasha blinks. "Aren't you?" He had just assumed. The foot prints in the dust had been on the small side.

'_No.'_

Well that completely kills the mental image he had going. He thought he was dealing with some middle school punk. "Well how old are you?" When the chalk doesn't move he realizes his mistake. "Er, I mean, when you died. How old?"

'_22.'_

"Damn you have small-" realization hits him, and he feels like the biggest idiot on this side of Japan. The handwriting doesn't look particularly feminine, but he guesses that thirty years of being out of practice would do that. "You're… a woman. Were a woman." He doesn't know why that sets him on edge but it does. Suddenly all those times he took a piss off the back step seems like a terrible idea. He wonders if that counts as voyeurism or something.

She underlines her response, and Inuyasha gets the feeling that her cheeks would be puffed into a huff if he could see her. '_Am a woman._' A few seconds later she adds, '_I'm still me.'_

He snorts. "Right, except for all the fleshy bits and a reflection."

The chalk clacks angrily against the wall, drawing a circle around one of the earlier words she had written. '_Rude_.'

He smirks, amused. "Right. So you the only ghost haunting this place?"

'_Yes._'

"Then who's the asshole keeping me from working at night?"

For a long minute there is nothing, and Inuyasha almost thinks she's left.

'_Not a ghost. Worse._'

Right. Of course it is. Inuyasha blows his bangs out of his eyes, already trying to figure out exactly how fucked his deadline's going to be with only the daylight to work in. "Fine. Whatever. Anything else I should know?"

'_Stay away from well._'

He frowns. "What well?"

'_In well house. Locked.'_

He remembers the small building over by the shrine - the one with a door covered in locks and chains. Now he's really glad he didn't waste his time with the bolt cutters. "_That's_ what's in there? What's so scary about a well?"

'_Evil. Poison. Corrupts_.'

He holds his hands up before she can keep the list going. "Ok, ok. Got it. Well is bad."

Three lines, in quick succession, under the word 'evil'.

He nods, still skeptical. What the hell can an evil not-ghost do to him? Other than doing creepy shit like writing lame threats in blood, he doesn't really get what there is to be scared of, but whatever. No point in seeing a stupid well when he's got indoor plumbing anyway.

He eyes the writing on the wall carefully, head tilting. "You got a name?"

The question feels personal even as he asks it. Aren't names suppose to hold power or some shit? But there doesn't seem to be any hesitation in her response.

'_Kagome.'_

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**AN: **Sorry for missing last Wednesday's update... and sorry in advance if I miss this Wednesday as well. I have a rare condition called Trigeminal Neuralgia and tomorrow I have a consult with a nuerosurgeon and I'm low key freaking out. Fingers crossed I'll have a better idea of what the future holds for me.

As always, thank you for your reviews and support! They never cease to make my day a little brighter.


	9. Under the Weather

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 9: Under the Weather_

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He learns things.

Mostly by accident. Partly from boredom.

He learns that Kagome was - _is_ \- a cat person. Which fucking figures because there is no way in hell that's ever gonna happen. She can write on the walls, freeze the rooms, and hide all his shit as much as she wants but he draws the line at _cats_. If he decides get a pet then it's going to be man's best friend – not _Satan's_.

He also figures out real fast that she's as illiterate with a ruler as she is with math; and he's got a couple miscut boards to show for it. She can't lift much either. Anything heavier than his drill doesn't get more than an inch off the ground despite her trying. First time he asked her to hand him a piece of lumber he watched it quiver uselessly until he finally told her to give up already. When he asks about it she doesn't really have an answer for him. She doesn't know why her limits are what they are, only that it's more than what she used to be capable of when she first died. She didn't even mean to leave those foot prints in the dust – hadn't even thought she _could_ – until he called her out on it.

Regardless, it means she's pretty much useless as far as help goes, but at least his concerns are limited to her screwing up measurements and not chopping off appendages. Besides, she hates the language he's picked up from years of being on job sites so she's a bad fit for the construction scene anyway. But at least she seems to have given up on correcting him.

Since she's pretty much zero help, and all his wood working equipment is set up in the living area, he develops a habit of talking. Which is weird, but not as strange as ignoring that she exists at all. At least if he's talking – and she's answering – then he's got some idea of where she is. So he makes his cuts, rips his boards, and does his sanding in the living room – talking mindlessly and constantly glancing up at the wall for her response. It's stupid but damn if it doesn't help pass the time.

The summer storm he's been dreading hit early this morning. Rain is hitting his new roof, but a careful evaluation doesn't show any leaks. The fact fills him with equal parts pride and mind numbing relief. He's confident in his workmanship, but he ain't a roofer by trade. Besides, there's some things that you just don't know will work until it _does_. Having proof that all the sweat and blood he's spilled isn't going to get swept away makes the sound of rain pretty much the equivalent to angels singing.

A shot of lightening flashes through the windows, followed closely by a clap of thunder, and he pauses in his sanding. All good feelings about the storm swiftly go down the drain with the rest of the rainwater. If the power goes out he's going to be _pissed_.

Another flash followed by a rolling growl and the hand he's sanding with slows. He doesn't have a whole lot of memories of his mom, but he remembers her holding him during a storm not unlike this one. He'd been little, easily folded into her arms as she rocked him and whispered into his ear. _Don't be afraid. It's only the sky demons,_ she cooed, _playing their games and making music in the clouds. Listen? Don't you hear it?_

Sometimes he still stops in the middle of a thunder storm. Just to listen. Most nights, like tonight, he tells himself not to get distracted by things that don't matter.

Inuyasha shakes his head – hating that his eyes had been blindly staring through the window and his hands had stopped altogether. The grip he has on the sanding block tightens, and gets back to his work with new ferocity. He labors for a few more minutes when a thought occurs to him.

"Oi, what are ghosts afraid of?" He says it like a joke more than a question. He doesn't really expect an honest answer, but when he happens to look up there's one waiting for him.

'_Being alone_.'

It's like a blow to the chest. Inuyasha thinks of all the years he spent in the foster system – mother dead, forgotten by his half brother, and unable to trust anyone but himself. "Yeah?" he says, stubbornly speaking past the gravel in his throat. The saw dust – must have inhaled some sawdust. "I get that."

'_You?_'

He thinks and he thinks, but nothing else comes to mind. It feels wrong to give her some bullshit answer after she's given him a serious one. Inuyasha wonders how fucked up it is that he's willing to be more honest with a dead woman he can't even see, than the friends he can.

"Same," he admits softly, returning to his work.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks everyone for your support. It means so much. I'm sorry I haven't responded individually… still kind of wrapping my head around all this. My consultation confirmed that surgery may be my best option, so I will be seeing a nuerospecialist that specializes in that part of the skull in two weeks.

As always, your reviews are appreciated and are a much needed source of happiness.

Word Count: 829


	10. Light Reading

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 10: Light Reading_

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Inuyasha doesn't read if he can help it. His Literature teacher back in the day had to drag him through chapters like a man pulling at a stubborn ox – unsuccessful. Only reason he managed to pass was because Miroku would brief him the mornings before a test. No amount of forced reading's gonna make him like doing it. It's just not something he enjoys.

So it doesn't occur to him that Kagome _might._ Not until he finds himself staring just a little too long at a novel in the checkout line. Someone must have had second thoughts, because it's the only one and it's balancing on boxes of strawberry Pocky. He thinks of how she apologized (after he went and put his foot in his mouth) because some words were hard for her to remember.

"Excuse me sir, are you ready?"

Inuyasha jumps, embarrassed when he finds the cashier staring and the space in front of him empty. "Sorry, got distracted," he mumbles, quickly putting his beer and Ramen up on the counter.

The girl behind the register gives him a shy smile, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear. She's young – probably not even out of high school. "Oh, it's ok. Happens all the time!"

Inuyasha's pretty sure it doesn't. He's also pretty sure the way she keeps glancing up at him as she scans his items is her low key checking him out. If he wasn't so distracted he might have actually cared enough to let her down easy.

She gives him the total, but he's still too busy staring at that god damn book. With a grumbled curse, he grabs it and slaps it onto the counter without even checking to see what it's called or what it's about. He's got a feeling Kagome won't be all that picky after thirty years of nothing. "This too."

The cashier pauses, looking from the book to him like she's found a winning lottery ticket. "You… like romance novels?" she breathes, eyes shining as her hand clutches her chest. "That is so, so admirable! You must be so in touch with –"

Yeah. No way in hell was he going to let her finish that sentence. "It's for a girl back home," he snaps, teeth grinding. Of course it was a sappy romance. Of, fucking, course. "Can you hurry up? I have somewhere I need to be."

Inuyasha isn't sure if it's his gruff attitude or the insinuation that he's unavailable, but she doesn't bat her eyelashes or smile when she gives him his receipt.

He doesn't get a bag either.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks everyone for your kind words and well wishes! They mean so much!

Also, I mentioned this on tumblr but I'm going to mention it here as well. Feel free to promt me and I'll try to work it in here! :) I'm feeling like I need some more chapters than what's currently planned!

Word Count: 432


	11. Keeping It Cool

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Writing on the Wall

Chapter 11: Keeping It Cool

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"You really gonna follow me everywhere?" he grumbles, pausing his drywall repair in one of the upstairs rooms.

Inuyasha's gotten pretty good at recognizing the drops in temperature now that he knows what it is. Kagome's been staying out of his way for the most part, and it's not like she's nagging at him or anything. It's just awkward knowing she's there – no doubt watching over his shoulder.

She doesn't have a way of answering him – not really. The wall covered in that god awful chalk paint is downstairs, covered in her (rapidly improving) handwriting. Inuyasha's noticed that while her sentences are still short and concise, they've become a hell of a lot less vague. He's not sure if it's because of how much they talk or because of the book he left, without a word, on the counter last week. He's too embarrassed to ask.

There's a knock next to the spot he's slathered in drywall compound and he frowns. "Like I'm supposed to know what that means?"he grumbles. Then, from behind him, he hears the sound of his drywall knife shifting, the metal scraping quietly against the floor and he starts. "Oi! Don't even think about writing anything on this wall! You got your own wall! Downstairs, remember?!"

He's answered by silence and a sudden increase in temperature. The upstair rooms are hot. Muggy. This one's even worse thanks to the window being jammed shut. He goes back to work, grumbling under his breath as he smooths the plaster flush with the wall, before moving onto the next fist sized hole. It's on the exterior wall and full of acorns. Some kind of squirrel nest. It's gonna take him a minute to clear out all the shit, and the hole's too big to just slap some plaster on it. Sweat runs down his neck, slipping past his collar and soaking the back of his shirt.

He wipes his forehead with his sleeve, glancing sheepishly around the room. "Oi, you still here?"

There's a knock from the farthest corner of the room. Inuyasha still doesn't know what she looks like, but somehow he can still imagine her pouting.

He can't even believe he's about to ask, but it's fucking hot and she's cold, so. "You can, uh, get closer if ya want."

Two tentative knocks – so light he'd almost call them taps – break the quiet. Inuyasha interprets it as a question. Lying would be easy, but it'd be cowardly too. He's a shit ton of a things, but a coward ain't one of them.

"Why?" He gives a weak laugh, wiping at some sweat rolling down his jaw and smirking in the general direction of where the knocks sounded. "Because it's fucking hot."

The silence that follows feels longer than it is, and for a sliver of a second he thinks he offended her. Then the temperature starts dropping, swiftly providing some much needed relief. Inuyasha closes his eyes and sighs. "This totally makes up for your shitty measuring skills."

The temperature plummets, prompting goosebumps over his uncovered skin. Inuyasha doesn't need to see her to know that she's not amused, but he sure as hell ain't lying so (as far as he's concerned) he doesn't owe any apologies. Besides, he'd take some frosty breathing over sweating heat any day.

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AN: Sorry everyone foe the delay. Life's been hectic and TN is kicking my ass.

Word Count: 552


	12. Sealed Lips

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 12: Sealed Lips_

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For Inuyasha, adulthood has meant more bills and more work. What most people budget for restaurants is what he budgets for instant ramen and beer. Aside from the occasional quick bite of street food every now and then, he only ever sits down to eat once a month – and only because Miroku Likes to bitch about never seeing him unless food's involved.

He hasn't seen the superstitious man since he came over to the house back when he first got it. Inuyasha's put it off. He still has a ton of shit to do and, honestly, he doesn't want to bother with it. Not now anyway. It's all good and dandy to catch up every now and then, but not at the expense of the things he actually _needs to do._

Miroku is staring at him over the rim of his cup of sake. He's been toeing around the question since they sat down, so Inuyasha isn't even remotely surprised when it comes. "So, how's the house coming?"

It's the perfect time to tell him. Hell, Miroku looks like he's even preparing himself for a horror story, but Inuyasha can't bring himself to do it. Kagome feels like… fuck, he doesn't even know how to describe it, but he knows that he wants to keep it to himself. "It's going."

Miroku hums, but there's an odd look passing over his features – like he knows something he shouldn't. Inuyasha doesn't like it. "I had lunch with Shippo a few days ago."

Inuyasha's stomach drops, his chopsticks pausing over a piece of pork. Fucking hell. Shippo wasn't as much as a gossip as Miroku, but there's no way in hell he'd keep quiet about his experience on the roof.

He plays dumb any way.

"Oh yeah?" Inuyasha says, continuing to eat his meal. "How's he doing?"

Miroku hides his frown by taking another sip of sake, his eyes gleam with an accusatory I-told-you-so glint. "Pretty good actually, considering he had a supernatural experience _on your property_."

Inuyasha manages to withhold a wince. Busted. Going to have to give that whelp a lesson in how to keep his trap shut. "He tell you that he almost fell off the roof? Kid could've died. Can't blame him for imagining something that isn't there."

The man across from him doesn't answer and after a few minutes of tense silence their conversation goes onto other, more safe, topics for the next hour. Inuyasha leaves the restaurant knowing that he hasn't convinced him.

* * *

AN: Sorry guys, things likely wont be on schedule for a while. Ive been approved for neurosurgery at the end of the month, so things are going to be a bit sporadic. Thank you to everyone who has shown me such love and support! And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review!

Also, to those asking for longer chapters... sorry but this is a drabble fic. If it wasn't then I would never have posted it at all. Drabbles are all I can commit to, so thats all they're ever going to be.

Word Count: 416


	13. Read It and Weep

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 13: Read It and Weep_

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He tips back his beer. Sitting against the wall is surprisingly comfortable, but that might have more to do with being dead tired than anything. Leaning his head back, he watches the dust in the air catch the last of the evening light filtering through the window.

He should have probably kept working, but he's beat and he's too early into the game to run out of steam now. Pacing himself is gonna be key to getting this place up and running in the last remaining weeks.

The chalk clacks against the board, and he opens his eyes lazily to read it.

'_Do you have family?_'

Inuyasha snorts. "Yeah, I'm not drunk enough to have that conversation." He takes another swig of beer, wondering what his question should be. Somewhere along the line talking's changed into a game of questions. It's stupid and cheesy – and he wouldn't be caught dead playin' it with anyone else – but it isn't like Kagome can rat him out for being a sap, so he figures it's safe to just roll with it. Maybe even enjoy it (just a little). "What color carpet did you have up in your room?" he asks. It's kinda a waste of a question but he can't really think of a better one. "Bastards left the tack strips in."

'_Drunk enough to forget it's not your turn," _she writes back, referring to his answer instead of his question.

"What the hell are you talking about? You asked a question, now it's my turn!" He gripes, pointing the neck of the beer bottle towards the line of writing (where he assumed she was). "And I'm not drunk!"

'_You didn't answer it!_'

Yeah, ok. He'd have to give her that one. He waved a hand. "Feh! Fine! Go on then!"

'_What's this kanji?_'

Inuyasha spits out his beer, coughing. Face red, he tries to talk between the hacking. "Where the fuck did you even read that?!"

'_The book?_'

His eyes do a frantic search around the room. He's seen it a few times down here, and he occasionally hears the turning of pages between running things through the saw. When he finds it teetering on the pile of lumber he sets his beer down and gets up to grab it, flipping through the pages – growing more embarrassed by the second. "What the hell did I buy you?!" The cashier called it a romance, not _porn_!

The chalk taps against her last question.

"You don't need to know that!" He runs a hand down his face, the skin feeling hot even to his own hands. "Fucking hell."

'_You're still not answering!_'

His voice is growing louder, the pitch higher, in his embarrassment. "What's your point?!"

'_You can't skip both!_'

Inuyasha groans, the book still firmly in his hands so he can make a point of burning it later. "God damn it, fine!" Anything was better than talking to her about words that were better left in the fucking bedroom. "I have one brother and he's a complete asshole. I don't see him. I don't talk to him. And I don't like talking _about_ him," he growls, glaring at the blackboard. "There! Happy?"

There is a pause before she answers, but when she does her characters are drawn slowly and carefully. '_I'm sorry_.'

He scoffs, looking away. "Whatever. S'not your fault." He gestures weakly to the ceiling, finding his beer and slumping against the wall. "Now what color was the stupid carpet."

'_Pink_.'

He smirks, his spirits lifting. "Fucking knew it."

'_?'_

Inuyasha waves her off. "Nothin. Your turn."

She waits a whole five seconds before she circles her previous, humiliating, question.

Inuyasha screams.

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**AN**: Thank you everyone for your kind words and support!

Word Count: 609


	14. Down the Drain

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 14: Down the Drain_

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Inuyasha hates plumbing. He fucking _hates_ it. It's gross, and wet, and _gross_.

There's water damage in the bathroom.

Water damage that _isn't_ from the fucking roof he just repaired. Oh no. It's from the god damned _toilet_. The disgusting toilet that he was going to toss anyway. The toilet he hadn't even looked at because, hey _it's just a toilet._

Everything else in the bathroom is in decent shape. Sure the tile's outdated, and the grout and shower pan need a serious scrub down, but it works. He had planned on just replacing the toilet and updating the vanity with something a little more modern.

Then he goes to pull the toilet, sees the rotted floor underneath, and suddenly his whole plan of any easy replacement gets flushed down the disgusting, god forsaken, _piece of shit_ toilet.

Now he's looking at another week long delay. He's going to need new plywood subfloor, new tile. Shit, depending on how far the rot went he might even need a new fucking shower. He thinks about all the other things he still needs to do, tallying up the days.

He's not going to make his deadline.

"God damn it!" He stalks out of the room, seething and looking for something to kick or punch or _fucking anything_. He spots the shop vac and, without thinking it through, gives it a violent kick. It topples over, bouncing and rolling across the floor a couple rotations before the top flies off, littering the floor with the same dust and debris that he just cleaned up.

Inuyasha roars, hands burying in his dark hair as he struggles with the (suddenly very real) urge to pull it out. "I hate everything in this fucking house!"

He paces, taking deep breaths in hopes of easing the absolute fury boiling his blood. He's fucked. He only has three weeks left before he goes back to work – four until his lease is up. No way the place is gonna be done before then. He's going to need to move in before it's finished. He'll have to prioritize –

The chalk taps against the wall, demanding his attention.

'_Me?_'

"You?" Then it dawns on him and he rolls his eyes. "No, not _you_. Don't be stupid. Since when have you ever been a thing?"

When he looks back up there is a smiley face drawn on the wall. He grumbles, kneeling in the dust to fix the shop vac. Anger is still making him tense, but every time he looks up at that ridiculous chalked face (seriously, the thing's lopsided and so adorable he'll probably smile back if he stares at it too long) he feels a little more of it melt away.

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**AN**: Prompted whoiamtheysaid on tumblr.

Words: 452


	15. What the Cat Dragged In

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 15: What the Cat Dragged In_

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Kagome usually greets him the second he steps through the door – her excitement as palpable as the chalk clicking happily against the wall. So when he walks into a silent house, no written words of greeting, his hand pauses on the handle.

Inuyasha's eyes dart around the room, not really sure what he's looking for but looking anyway. "Kagome?" he calls, closing the door behind him. "Ya here?"

A long few seconds later, and he finds himself stupidly relieved when he sees the chalk rising from the bin on the wall.

'_I'm here. How are you?_'

"Feh. Same as yesterday. What're you up to?"

Her response is quick. Too quick. '_Nothing_.'

Inuyasha's eyes narrow, suspicious. "Ok…"

Two hours later, while he's working on the upstairs, he hears a muffled thump from the attic. He frowns up at the ceiling, head tilting as he listens. If he concentrates really hard he thinks he might hear the tiniest pitter pattering of footsteps. Which, in any other house he'd shrug off and call an exterminator.

In _his_ house? Yeah, he's fucking concerned.

Slowly, he backs out of the room – still eyeing the ceiling. If something decides to pop out at him it's going to be rewarded with a fucking fist to the face. Transparent or not. "Kagome!" he yells from the top of the stairs. "If there's any face eating monsters in the attic, now would be a really great time to know about it!"

He can hear the chalk writing on the wall downstairs and curses. "Fucking hell, Kagome. Write it up here where I can fucking see it!"

The chalk clacks against the wall to his left, and his eyes dart to read it as quickly as possible – reluctant to keep his eyes off the ceiling for long.

'_You said never to write on the walls.'_

Inuyasha growls. "That was before there was something moving in my god damn attic! What the hell is up there?!"

He hates how hesitant her answer is.

'_There's no monsters.'_

No monsters, well ain't that a fucking relief. He lets his gaze linger on her words, frowning the longer he stares at it. She didn't answer the question. "So what the hell _is it_?"

'_Nothing.'_

Oh hell no.

Inuyasha swears, already marching down the hallway to get to the attic access. The chalk clacks along the walls, hastily trying to follow him, but he's going to fast for him to read it and she can't keep up.

When he starts climbing the attic stairs, he can swear he feels cold hands tugging at the back of his shirt, but he doesn't give a shit. There's something in his attic. Something that Kagome _doesn't_ want him to know about.

When he pops his head up he is promptly greeted by bright, green eyes and a hiss straight to his face and he yelps – trying to retreat but missing the step and falling on his back with a wheeze.

There's a cat in his attic. Why the _fuck_ is there a cat in his attic?!

Down by the baseboards, next to his head, Kagome writes.

'_She doesn't like strangers.'_

If Inuyasha had the breath for it, he'd probably growl something along the lines about how he doesn't like squatters in his attic – particularly the feline kind – but instead he just stares at the writing numbly while he tries to figure out where the hell his lungs went.

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**AN: **Thanks as always to all of your support! It is truly appreciated! :)

Word Count: 570


	16. A Cat's Chance In Hell

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 16: A Cat's Chance in Hell_

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"We're not keeping it."

The gray tabby paces the floor, arching its back and purring so loudly it might as well be a motor in the fucking thing's throat. Inuyasha glares at it, standing on the other side of the room with his arms crossed and his temper growing more fowl by the second. It's only when the chalk writes on a blank space on the chalkboard directly above the cat that he realizes the stupid animal's trying to _rub_ itself against her.

'_It sees me.'_

His first instinct is to tell her that's impossible, but what the hell does he know? The proof is in front of him. Which, if he's honest, kinda pisses him off. Why the fuck would a mangy cat be able to see her but not him? "How?" he asks, lip curling when the stray pauses to pin its large, bright green eyes on him.

'_I don't know.'_

Inuyasha eyes the stupid thing, irritation grudgingly fading in the face of growing curiosity. "Can it feel you too?"

'_I think so?'_

The cat tilts its head, purr increasing in volume, and Inuyasha suspects Kagome is scratching it behind the ear. Weird. It's just too fucking weird. "Is that… normal?"

Her response is sarcastic – he can tell by the punctuated pressing of the chalk. '_How should I know?_'

Inuyasha scoffs, wondering why the hell she _wouldn't_, but he bites his tongue. Working with Kagome hanging over his shoulder has taught him it ain't always worth causing an argument. Especially since the last time he pissed her off she went and hid his favorite measuring tape for _hours_ until he sucked it up and apologized.

The chalk taps against the wall, timid and full of hope. '_Please, can we keep her? Please?'_

Inuyasha hates cats. He absolutely despises them. Yet, somehow, the longer he looks at her words the more he feels his resolve waver. _It can see me_, she said. Four words that shouldn't make him feel guilty – it's not his fucking fault – but it does.

God damn it.

"Whatever," he grunts, knowing he was going to kick himself for this later. He won't admit it even under the threat of death, but the hearts and thank you's that start decorating the chalkboard wall kinda, almost, _maybe_ make it worth it.

* * *

**AU:** I'm back! Surgery went great, and I'm feeling a thousand times better! If you follow me on tumblr than you already know, but I also submitted my manuscript _Everlong_ (my original rewrite of _To the Flame_) to PitchWars! Keep your fingers crossed for me ya'll!

As always, thank you all for your support!

Word Count: 384


	17. Angel's Advocate

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter17: Angel's Advocate_

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Shippo believes in ghosts.

Maybe not to the same extent Miroku does, but still. As far as he's concerned, there's no reason _not_ to believe in the paranormal. It's like aliens. It's stupid to discredit something just because you can't see it. Plus, scientists are making new discoveries _everyday –_ why couldn't secrets of the afterlife someday be one of them?

He's gone over what happened on Inuyasha's roof a thousand times over, and no matter how many times the carpenter insists it was shock or dehydration, Shippo knows what he felt. There had been hands on his back, pushing him forward. Hands that felt cool in the sweltering heat of summer. Hands that felt _safe_.

How he imagines a guardian angel would feel.

So when he stops by the house a few weeks later there's no fear. Only questions that, honestly, he doesn't really expect to find the answers to (but he still hopes).

Inuyasha looks down from the top of his ladder, white paint splattered on his cheek and the front of his coveralls. Give him another hour and Shippo knows the stuff will _somehow_ make it into his hair. He plans on being far away before it happens.

In typical Inuyasha fashion, he offers a gruff question instead of a greeting. "You come to help?"

Shippo gestures to the nice jeans and button up shirt he's wearing. "Does it _look_ like I came to help?"

Inuyasha doesn't spare him a glance, too busy slapping another layer of – what Shippo now recognizes as primer – on the exterior wall. "Well what the fuck are you here for?"

Shippo shrugs, hands sinking into his pant pockets. "Any other strange stuff happen?"

There's a pause in Inuyasha's brush – so small Shippo nearly misses it – before he snorts. "What? You still on about that? Let it go, kid."

Shippo's head tilts, eyes narrowing. It isn't unusual for Inuyasha to completely blow of his questions, but the lack of jibes _is_. Movement at the base of the ladder catches his eye. Rolling around in a patch of tall weeds and batting playfully at one of the green blades, is a gray tabby. Alarm bells start ringing in Shippo's head. "You have a cat."

The brush seems to slap against the siding with more force than necessary. Inuyasha doesn't hesitate, but his words are edged with resigned frustration. "What about it?"

"You hate cats."

"Yeah, well, stupid thing keeps the rodents out. Don't make a thing of it," Inuyasha grumbles, loading his brush with more paint before reaching for a spot farther to his right.

There's a wobble in the ladder. Nothing terrible, but definitely enough to be concerning. Shippo is a second away from running over and steadying it when it suddenly stops. One look at Inuyasha proves that it has nothing to do with him – idiot is leaning all the way to one side to reach a piece of trim. The longer he watches, the more improbable it seems, but the ladder stays perfectly still – as if someone was already there to stabilize it. Inuyasha doesn't question it, but then again he _wouldn't_.

Shippo's lips quirk into a knowing smile. Looks like Inuyasha has an angel looking out for him, too.

* * *

AN: Thank you everyone! It's good to be back!

Guest: I don't know how best to answer you so hopefully you see this. As much as I would love to assure you that _To the Flame_ will be finished I can't make any promises. From early on the characters felt OOC to me, and now that I've rewritten it into an original it feels even more so. So the answer, sadly, is probably not. It isn't likely that it will find completion (though I won't completely dismiss the possibility entirely). If it's something you're interested in, I do post updates on my profile of the original rewrites status.

Word Count: 538


	18. Death's Door

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 18: Death's Door_

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Landscaping isn't really on Inuyasha's priority list, but he knows a problem when he sees it.

Wind is irritating enough as it is (fucking hair) but now he's got a property of trees to worry about, and one of them happens to be too damn close to his new roof. The limb branching out over his shingles is thick – strong. It's probably nothing to lose sleep over.

Except, he already has.

Also, his luck is absolute shit and everything that can go wrong _has_ gone wrong on this project, and he ain't gonna risk it.

Knowing the wind is only suppose to worsen overnight, Inuyasha doesn't waste time. He buys a chainsaw from the big box store down the street right when they open their doors for the day. It's probably one of the few tools he _doesn't_ have, and he can't help the mad grin that curls his mouth when he pulls it out of the box. Unlike his (god damned) bathroom, this progress killer at least holds the promise of a good time. _Plus_ it's an excuse to buy a new toy, and that's pretty much always welcome in his book.

He's standing back, shiny new chainsaw all gassed up and ready to go by his feet, and eyeing the tree branch in question. A plan of attack is definitely needed if he wants to avoid a catastrophe, but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't itching to charge in head first. He's got visions of wood chipped confetti dancing in his head and a goofy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

That's when he hears it.

A scratching sound; nails against wood. It takes him a few minutes to realize it's coming from the well house not ten feet behind him.

Hesitantly, Inuyasha takes a step towards it – eyes narrowing. The fine hairs on his arms rise, goosebumps dotting his flesh. It's probably just a squirrel or something. Or maybe that pain in the ass cat got itself stuck in there. It wouldn't be the first time the damned stray caused him grief. Inuyasha hasn't forgotten Kagome's warnings, but it can't hurt to put his ear up against the door. Right?

Except, maybe it can, because he doesn't even go three steps before he feels a cold, _hard_ push against his chest. There's enough force behind it to send him off balance and onto the ground. He sputters, hand flying to his chest as if to keep his startled heart from bursting outta his ribs. He's just about ready to turn tail when words appear in the patch of dirt in front of him; the handwriting blessedly familiar.

'_No! Not here! NEVER here!_'

The characters thick and deep despite being rushed… like she used her whole hand to write them. For a second – between taking one breath and the next – Inuyasha wonders if ghost fingers are impervious to damage or, if he could see her, he would find her hands bloody and her fingernails ripped from their beds.

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**AN**: Thank you all for your patience! And thank you to whoever nominated this fic for best AU for the second quarter of the Inuyasha Fandom Awards! :'D


	19. Ignorance is Bliss

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 19: Ignorance is Bliss_

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Inuyasha isn't one to run from a fight, but he ain't an idiot either. He's done some downright stupid things (picking unnecessary fights included) but he likes to think that he's matured and grown past those reckless years. Some things are best left alone.

He doesn't try to get any closer to the well house.

The curiosity is there, making his skin itch every time he thinks of those wooden doors, but it's got nothing on the sick feeling of dread in his gut. Kagome's words are still carved into the earth – too deep to be swept away. He suspects there'll still be evidence of it after the next rain, even.

_Not here. Never here. _

There's gotta be a hundred different ghost stories surrounding the property he bought; stories Inuyasha hasn't ever bothered to pay attention to. Not for the first time, he almost wishes he had. He doesn't know how Kagome died – hell, he doesn't even know what the official police report says – but he's starting to wonder. Scratch that. He _does_ wonder. He wonders a lot.

Who – what – killed her? He knows she died on the grounds, but he doesn't know _where_. In the house? It had to be, right? What room? Did she... fuck. Did she suffer? Is that why she can't leave? Is that why she's stuck haunting a house that hasn't been a home since she died?

Answers are probably only a quick internet search away – he knows he could at least fish out the details of her death. He might not have paid any attention to the rumors, but he knows that it was big enough news to deserve at least a couple newspaper articles. It'd be easy if it wasn't so god damned hard.

Inuyasha stares at his phone, the muscle in his jaw tightening. Kagome's name is typed into the google search bar, ready and waiting, but he can't bring himself to hit the god damn search button. He gives a frustrated growl, closing the tab before tossing his phone onto his mattress. Rubbing a hand over his face, he falls back onto the bed and glares at his apartment ceiling.

He can't do it. He just can't fucking do it.

It's wrong – digging her past behind her back. He knows he'd be pissed if she pulled that shit on him. Dead or not, _ghost_ or not, Inuyasha can't bring himself to betray her trust like that. If he wants to know then he's gotta ask _her_. It's only fair.

Except he can't bring himself to ask, either.

Later, he assures himself – scowling up at the cracked plaster spiderwebbing across his ceiling (the one his piece of shit landlord _still_ hasn't fixed). He'll ask later. When he's got less on his plate and things have calmed down. Besides, it isn't all that important – just curiosity, is all. However Kagome died ain't going to change anything. It can wait.

A part of Inuyasha – the part that likes to sabotage him – whispers, accusingly, that's he's only avoiding the question because he's afraid of the answer.

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**AN: **Sorry for the delay everyone! Life's been crazy and the approaching holidays sure aren't helping. I'll try to get the next one up faster :)

As always, thank you to everyone reading and reviewing!

Word Count: 511


	20. Knock Knock

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 20: Knock Knock_

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Inuyasha knows that Miroku has a tendency to just, _show up_, unexpectedly. He knows because the asshole still manages to walk into his apartment even though he's never given him a god damn key. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that he hears Miroku calling his name right in the middle of him tiling.

Closing his eyes, Inuyasha struggles to find patience, but he's still got three quarters of the floor to lay and he doesn't feel like taking a break to bullshit. But when Miroku calls him again there is an odd squeak to his voice that sets off alarm bells.

The wall.

Inuyasha curses.

Kneeling on subfloor the past two hours has been murder on his knees, but it doesn't stop Inuyasha from practically running to the living room. When he gets there, Miroku is pointing with a shaky hand toward the wall that is still covered in Kagome's handwriting. "What _**is**_ this?"

Inuyasha rolls his eyes – trying to play it off like it's nothing – but he's internally scrambling for excuses and coming up with jack to show for it. Instead he leans on the door frame and answers like a god damn _idiot_, "What does it look like?"

The incredulous look he receives is confirmation of his stupidity. "What does it look like?" Miroku echoes, voice teetering on panic. "It _looks_ like a scene out of a horror movie!"

He cringes. "It's more like… Casper." Inuyasha tries not to stare at the writing appearing on a blank space of wall (because if he doesn't look then maybe Miroku won't think to) but a quick glance is all he needs to read it.

'_What's a Casper?'_

Miroku still looks like he's on the edge of a psychotic break, but by some small mercy he's too busy drilling holes into his friend to see the fresh strokes of chalk. "Casper," he repeats, his voice an octave higher than it should be. "_**Casper**_."

Inuyasha shrugs, laughing weakly. "You know, the friendly ghost?"

A strained, _hysteric_, laugh bubbles from the young man's throat. "Ghost. _Ghost_! How do you even know it's just a ghost! It could be a demon for all you – " The chalkboard eraser hits the back of Miroku's head with a _fwap_ that is quickly drowned out by Miroku's startled scream.

If Kagome hadn't just made his life a hundred times more difficult, he probably would have laughed at how high the bastard jumped. As it is, Inuyasha can only offer up an irritated sigh as Miroku scrambles behind him – using him like some kind of human shield – while he points frantically to the words being scrawled out on the wall.

'_I am __not_ _a demon!'_

"I-it wrote! It used the chalk, and it wrote!"

The response is immediate and – judging by the amount of force exerted – livid. '_She_. _Not it!_'

Apparently Miroku is either blind or scared stupid, because he doesn't heed her correction. "It did it again!" He punches Inuyasha's arm. "I _told_ you! I told you this place was haunted!"

Inuyasha growls. "Will you calm the fuck down?!"

Miroku whirls on him, the finger that was pointing toward Kagome's wall only a moment ago now directed accusingly at his friend. "You should be freaking out. Why aren't you freaking out?!" His eyes widen and his hand moves to cover his horrified expression. "Oh my god are you possessed?! Did it –"

Inuyasha grabs the shorter man by the lapels of his suit. "_Calm. Down._"

"Right. Right. Calm." Miroku darts a sneaking glance to the wall, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "Can I talk to you. Er, outside."

Inuyasha rolls his eyes. "You know she can still hear us there, right? Kagome's got the whole shrine."

"It has a _name!?_"

"Of course she has a fucking –" He sees the eraser raise from the floor, ready to strike. "Kagome put it down," he snaps. Even though he can't see her, he senses she's pouting just by the way it bounces off the floorboards. Inuyasha drags a palm down his face, groaning.

Fuck his life.

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**AN**: Thank you all for your support and patience! RL has been taking up a lot of my time, but rest assured I still have every intention to see this to the end :)

Word Count: 678


	21. Wet Blanket

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Writing on the Wall

Chapter 21: Wet Blanket

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Miroku all but drags him down the shrine steps, and Inuyasha immediately regrets informing him of Kagome's boundaries. "Will you fucking stop already?!" he snaps, yanking his arm from his friend's death grip. He's pretty sure if the idiot had been grasping his arm instead of the fabric of his coveralls he'd be left with bruises to show for it. "I got thinset drying up there! If I have to chisel it out of the bucket because you –"

"Are you serious?!" Miroku hisses, glancing around. It's the middle of a weekday and the sidewalk is empty other than an old woman pushing a walker ten yards ahead of them. "_That's_ what you're worried about?! Your house is infested with, with **something**, and you're worried about _thinset_?!"

Inuyasha grunts, irritated that he's got to deal with this now. "There's no infestation. It's just Kagome, and she's harmless." And, you know, something else in the well house, but Miroku really didn't need to know that.

Miroku throws his hands up, voice no longer quiet. "That you know of!"

"Well I'm still alive, aren't I?" he challenges. _This_ is exactly why he hadn't said anything. Now he's caught up in an argument he doesn't want to have and wasting time. "Can you just drop it, already?"

Miroku, of course, does the exact opposite of dropping it. He leans in close, voice dropping. "Look, if you're worried about the money then we'll figure it out – okay?"

"Damn it, I'm not staying there because I'm worried about the money!"

His friend isn't listening, though. He's too busy hiding his mouth behind a hand, eyes darting around in a way Inuyasha recognizes as a sign that his brain's going a mile a minute. "Maybe you could auction it off? I mean there's some real weirdos out there that would probably buy it just for the novelty –"

"Stop," Inuyasha growls. What little patience he started with has completely worn thin. "Just _stop._"

"But –"

"No! No fucking buts!" He points up the flight of steps. "I got a fucking job to finish and I ain't going to waste time arguing!"

Miroku stares at him, deathly silent. When he finally speaks, Inuyasha finds himself wishing he had run back up the steps when he had the chance. "You... you _like_ it."

Inuyasha recoils. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That spirit! The one you've been talking to!"

"For the love of – Kagome's stuck there, alright? She can't fucking leave. It ain't like she's haunting _me_. She's just... _there._ So, yeah, I'm making the best of it, ok? Besides, she saved Shippo from falling off the roof, so as far as hauntings go, I could do a hell of a lot worse."

Miroku isn't impressed. In fact, if anything, he seems even more perturbed. "Have you even looked her up?! Have you done _any_ research about who she _says_ she is?"

"What the hell does it matter?" Inuyasha snaps defensively. "She's dead ain't she? What else would I need to know!?"

Obviously it's the wrong answer, because Miroku's hands are gripping his head as if it physically pains him. "God, you're an idiot!" He jabs a finger to his friend's chest. "If we were in a horror movie you would be the first one to die, do you realize that?"

Inuyasha slaps his hand away. "Well, it's not! Ok?! It's my _fucking house _and it's my _fucking life_!" Miroku probably has a response, sharp and waiting on his tongue – he always does – but Inuyasha doesn't stay to listen.

He's heard enough as it is.

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**AN**: I hope this chapter finds you safe and healthy, dear readers. To all of you out there working, whether it be medical or retail, thank you for all that you've done and all that you're doing. Take care, my friends.

Words: 595


	22. Off the Handle

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 22: Off the Handle_

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'_You're angry._'

Inuyasha doesn't even know when she wrote it—the clicking of the chalk must have been drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears—but it had to have been sometime between slamming the front door and swearing at the (ruined) bucket of thin-set waiting for him in the bathroom.

It's not a question, so he doesn't treat it like one. "No shit," he snaps. He's pissed off all right, but if she thinks he's going to sit down and talk about it she has another thing coming. He scrapes out the dried, crumbling thin-set from the bottom the bucket and dumps it in the trash. What a fucking waste of yen.

When he looks up, Kagome's chalk has (wisely) remained silent.

The only sound in the room is the metal hiss of his trowel against the plastic sides of the bucket as he scoops and the heavy thud as it hits to the bottom of the trash bin. Scrape. Toss. Scrape. Toss. Scrape. The repetition should cool his temper, but it really fucking doesn't. His blood his boiling, and by the time he finishes he can't hold himself back.

"You couldn't just let me handle it, could you?" he growls, noisily dropping the trowel into the (now empty) bucket. He doesn't even know if she's still in the room, but that damned cat is watching him—tail flicking—from the bottom step of the staircase, and the stupid thing has a tendency to stick close to Kagome. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The chalk is swift, flying across the wall in a flurry of strokes. '_He called me a demon!'_

"Who the fuck cares?!"

'_I do!'_

She's fucking lucky she's already dead, because right now he's pretty sure his look could kill. "Don't you get it?! He's not going to fucking let this go! Every time I talk to him, he's going to bring this up, and we're going to argue about it until one of us rolls over and dies!" he snarls, upper lip curling in a sneer. "So I hope you're fucking happy!"

The chalk floats, hovering uncertainly, but Inuyasha doesn't wait to see what she'll right. He snatches his bucket up from the floor and leaves—making sure to slam the front door behind him. He dumps the bucket by the coiled up hose before stalking over to grab the half empty bag of thin-set. When he dumps it in the bucket he gets a face full of cement dust in his face, and he curses around a cough.

The anger sticks with him, as stubborn as the dust in his hair and nose, but by the time he's slapping mud on the floor the hold it has on him begins to weaken. Kagome hasn't tried to get his attention. While he lays the first two tiles he tells himself he's glad she's leaving him the hell alone. Space is good. He _likes_ space. Except, when he lays the last tile, Inuyasha finds himself _irrationally_ irritated when he should just be glad to be fucking done.

Grumbling under his breath, he picks up his supplies and stalks out of the bathroom. He has every intention of just washing the bucket out, locking up, and getting the hell out of there, but he makes the mistake of glancing at the chalkboard wall on the way out, and stills.

'_I'm sorry.'_

Fucking hell.

Inuyasha sighs, running a hand over his face, as the rest of his anger sours into something that feels suspiciously like guilt. "Yeah," he mutters. "Me too."

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**AN: **As always, thank you to all who have taken a moment out of their day to review! And thank you to whomever nominated me for Best Serial in the 2020 Inuyasha Fandom Awards! Please continue to stay safe and healthy, dear readers!

Word Count: 596


	23. Get the Message

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 23: Get the Message_

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Inuyasha buys her three new books.

He tells her he just happened to see them—no big deal—but the truth is he spent a good hour in the book store picking them out. Mostly because he's hell bent on _never_ repeating the Surprise!-Book-Porn Incident, but also because he maybe-sorta-kinda still feels like a dick for yelling at her.

Kagome's already half-way through the first one when Miroku calls. Inuyasha doesn't pick up. After getting no answer after the eighth (consecutive) call, Miroku floods his inbox with text messages.

(10:46) _Seriously? You're ignoring me?_

(11:07) _I can't even call it 'ghosting' because of this very REAL AND VERY SERIOUS situation._

(11:59) _Can you pls just call me?_

(12:39) _Or text me?_

(13:05) _This isn't funny. Seriously. Pls just answer your damn phone so I know you're still alive._

Inuyasha scowls at the screen, before looking around the room. There's only a few more odds and ends to do before the bathroom is completely finished. Once he installs the new toilet, it will at least be functional. _Livable_. He's only got another week of vacation, ten more days till his lease expires, and he plans on using it to pack up and move in.

In his hand, his phone feels heavy. He's still pissed off, but he's not so much of an asshole that he'd let his friend worry. Still, he doesn't gotta be happy about it either. His thumbs tap against the screen, his message short and concise.

(13:14) _i'm alive now fuck off_

The phone doesn't even make it back into his back pocket before chiming.

(13:14) _PRAISE BUDHA!_

(13:14) _But also, RUDE._

(13:15) _I did some research. I REALLY think you need to see it. Pls call me ASAP. _

(13:15) _AND STAY AWAY FROM THAT HOUSE!_

Inuyasha scoffs, turning his phone off and shoving it in his pocket. He's got a toilet to install.

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**AN**: I can see Miroku being the type to keep it light on the abbreviations and still use proper punctuation (and of course Inuyasha just not giving a shit). As always, a big thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope this chapter finds you healthy and happy!

Word Count: 327


	24. Eye to Eye

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 24: Eye to Eye_

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There's someone sitting in front of his apartment door, but Inuyasha doesn't have to look closely to know who it is. He bites back a growl—it's been a long day. His back hurts from single-handedly installing that toilet, and all he wants right now is to pack up a box or two before chugging a beer and hitting the sack. "Are you fucking for real?"

Miroku's glare is swift, emphasized by the apathetic loll of his head when he turns to look at him. "You turned your phone off."

Inuyasha almost gives into the urge to remind him that he's his friend, not his fucking mother, but he restrains himself. There're bags beneath Miroku's eyes that shouldn't be there, a pallor to his cheeks, that Inuyasha knows he's (at least partially) to blame for. "How long have you been waiting here?"

His lips thin. "You could have been dead."

Right, that totally avoided his question. Which means the answer is probably closer to hours than minutes. Inuyasha gives a shrug, a weak attempt to dislodge the guilt weighing on his shoulders. "Figured if you were that worried about it, you'd have come by the house."

"... Sango convinced me if you weren't murdered after weeks of working in there then you were probably fine for today," Miroku grumbles, eyes darting away.

Inuyasha snorts. "Sango was right."

There's a calculating edge to Miroku's stare when he looks at him. Inuyasha recognizes it as a sure sign of trouble, but knows better than to think Miroku would give him a straight answer if he asked. "We're having nabemono tonight. Sango said to invite you."

Inuyasha frowns, suspicions growing. "It's the middle of summer."

Miroku's eyebrows raise—a challenge. "Is that a no?"

Damn him. Bastard knew he couldn't resist a good hot pot. Remembering that the only food hiding in his cupboards is boxed cereal and instant ramen doesn't exactly inspire him to turn down the offer of a home cooked meal, either. "Feh, whatever. You going to get up and the lead the way or keep sitting on your ass?"

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**AN**: As always, thank you for all the lovely reviews! Knowing you guys are excited makes me excited :D Some good stuff coming up next chapter! Including Sango and that juicy bit of info Miroku found ;D. See you next time! I hope this chapter finds you happy and healthy!

Word Count: 349


	25. Sour Grapes

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 25: Sour Grapes_

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Inuyasha doesn't make it two bites in before Miroku shoves a newspaper at his face. He sends him a glare, batting it away. "What the fuck? I'm trying to eat here."

Miroku scowls, pushing it towards him forcefully. "_Look_."

Sango sits in the seat adjacent to him, setting a traditional earthenware teapot on the tea tray. Inuyasha recognizes it as one of Miroku's family heirlooms—the one that usually only gets pulled out for important occasions. "He's not going to stop, you know," she says, pouring the first cup. "And you really _should_ read it."

Grumbling, Inuyasha snatches it from his hand—hoping it will get them off his back already. Then he looks at it and stops. Stares. The picture on the front page looks like a completely normal family, but they're standing on the front steps of _his _house. It's the yellowed age of the paper, the style of the school uniforms, that clues him in. A glance at the date in the corner would prove his suspicions, but he can't take his eyes off the young woman in the middle. The one he knows _has_ to be Kagome. "She… looks like Kikyo."

He hasn't thought of Kikyo in for-fucking-ever, but he dated her long enough (and loved her hard enough) to recognize when her god damn doppelgänger is staring him in the face.

Sango selects a piece of bok choy from her bowl. "Well, she would, wouldn't she?"

Miroku, still hovering beside him, looks aghast. "That's what you're hung up on? Really?!"

Inuyasha ignores him. He's way more interested in what Sango's talking about. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She rolls her eyes. "They're cousins. Kaede would have been Kagome's aunt."

_What?_ "Are you fucking serious?"

Miroku jabs a finger at the article beneath the photo, cutting in before Sango can answer. "Did you even read it?!"

He hadn't. He'd been too distracted by her face—by finally knowing what she looks like—to really care about what a bunch of reporters had to say. "Who cares? They probably got it all wrong, anyway."

Miroku stares at him, appalled. "She _killed_ them. She killed her family."

Inuyasha's blood runs cold, and his eyes quickly scan the article looking for a contradiction. He doesn't find any. "This—it _can't_ be right. I told you, they got it wrong." They must have—no way Kagome could have killed them. There's just no way.

The couple shares a look over the table. Sango's the one who breaks the deafening silence. "But what if they didn't?"

Inuyasha hates that her words stick with him, a weighted seed that grows and twines around his heart till his faith starts to sour and curdle into doubt.

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**AN**: Dun dun duuuuun! :D

Word Count: 451


	26. Seeing Red

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_Writing on the Wall_

_Chapter 26: Seeing Red_

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Inuyasha doesn't finish his meal. The few bites he does eat sits like a weight, heavy and churning, until it begins to evolve into something else—something safer than the nauseating combination of doubt and betrayal.

_Anger_.

When he was a kid in the foster system, holding onto anger helped him survive. So long as he fanned it, kept that fire burning, it could eclipse everything else: the pain of losing his mother, the abandonment of his brother, the loneliness of being shipped off to foster parent after foster parent. Now, with the black and white image of Kagome's face—smiling—imprinted in his mind's eye, he falls into the safety anger brings. Let's it burn through his veins and pump through his heart. Anything to distract him from the heaviness in his chest; the overwhelming wave of betrayal threatening to drag him out to sea.

Miroku recognizes the tension in his jaw, the shaking of his closed fists. When Inuyasha goes to leave, he stops him at the door—hand on his shoulder and voice low. "Hey, don't do anything stupid, ok? Stay away from that house."

Inuyasha scoffs, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. "Whatever." He won't make a promise he doesn't intend to keep.

He knows confronting Kagome is stupid, but he _has to know_. He has to hear it from _her_. The article must be wrong—some kind of tragic misunderstanding—because the picture in his hands of a happy, carefree girl surrounded by family matches with the ghost haunting his home and casting offers of friendship in words and chalk, but the words detailing how she murdered them _doesn't_.

It doesn't fit. It can't be true. It can't.

He storms in, slamming the front door behind him. His pulse is drumming in his ears, a pounding beat that makes his palms sweat. The page of newspaper crinkles in fist; the photo of the smiling Higurashi family staring up at him with hollowed, inked eyes. Inuyasha hasn't been able to look at it since he stormed out of Miroku and Sango's apartment. "Kagome!" he bellows, fumbling in the dark for the light switch. "Where the hell are you?!"

He finds the switch—the lights flicker on just as chalk taps against the wall. '_What's wrong?_'

He slaps the article against the wall, chest heaving with the force of his breathing. "That's what I want to know," he growls. The chalk drops, bouncing off the floor before rolling to a stop at his boot. He feels her gentle pull and releases the newspaper. It floats; trembling in the air. Inuyasha can make out where her fingers are placed by the dimpled imprints on the page.

"Did you do it?" he asks, hissing the words through gritted teeth. He has to ask—has to know. This isn't something he can overlook. "Did you kill them?"

He waits for her answer, but when it doesn't come quick enough he grabs a piece of chalk and shoves it towards her. "_**Answer.**_"

She doesn't take it—not at first. When she finally does, the strokes of her hiragana are shaky. Chalk crumbs fall to the floor, lodging between the woven strands of tatami. '_Yes_.'

Inuyasha feels his blood go cold.

She starts to write something else—chalk dragging against the wall in rapid, desperate strokes. Inuyasha doesn't stay long enough to read it. Just before he slams the door behind him, he swears he can hear a voice, hidden in the echo of scratching of chalk, begging him to stay.

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**AN**: Sorry for the delay. Been really struggling the past few weeks and my writing has suffered for it. Hoping to get to a better place soon. 3 Thank you to everyone who has offered encouragement and praise for this and all my other fics. It means more than you know.

Word Count: 589


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